Chambered Freedoms
by SetMeFree1
Summary: War is coming. Times are hard, but for Sansa being the little bird who does and says as everyone pleases isn't working anymore. She is suffocating with no way out. Until the unlikely connection between her and Sandor "The Hound" Clegane deepens. Sansa is driven to explore what is happening between them but Sandor is not so willing.
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This starts a bit after the attack where Sansa is almost raped. I'd like so say somewhere between Episode 6 and 9 of Season 2. In my story I am aging Sansa to 18. I just cant write for them with her being 13. I am HUGE fan of the books/show. I don't know if I necessarily "ship" SanSan but I am intrigued by them. I think they have potential if written well. Anyways, here is my meager contribution. This is only a four parter and I'm half way done already. Hope you enjoy. God bless! **

**EDITED TO ADD: Just realized a smidgen of the end was missing. I edited this like hundred times but of course there is always stuff missing or wrong. My apologies.**

**Chambered Freedoms**

~Part 1~

_**The more people you love, the weaker you are. You'll do things for them that you know you shouldn't do. You'll act the fool- **__**Cersei Lannister **_

Act the fool….

Act the _fool_…

Wasn't that her?

Sansa stilled her stitching.

The words echoed over and over inside her head like a dull haunting repetition. Swallowing the words, rolling them over in her brain, her heart. She couldn't make sense of how love was only meant to weaken when her lord father and mother had taught her love was an imperative foundation in any setting.

Yet here she was. Her father was executed and branded a traitor, her mother was aiding her brother in declared open war to the king, her betrothed, and meanwhile the Lannisters, who had no love for anyone save their own precious hides, were succeeding in every conquest or obstacle that obstructed their goal.

" Sansa, dear…?" Septa Nonchal demurely prompted, " you've stopped your work?"

Looking down, Sansa saw her stitching through a clouded haze of confusion. What was the point of all this? Would her stitch work win her love? Would it soften Joffrey's black heart or make Ser Meryn stop beating her on demand? Would it bring her father back or maybe force someone in this gods forsaken kingdom to look at her, actually look at her, and see that she was drowning.

Maybe Ser Ilyn Payne wouldn't come one day to lop her head off like Joffrey threatened every chance he got, but this slow death of words and sadistic torture was just as painful.

She was suffocating.

Licking her lips, she eyed her work as if she was looking at some foreign object that had just leaped into her lap.

" Sansa?" Septa Nonchal stood and now the rest of the ladies of court were staring.

She was done.

Automatically she sat up and a rush of heat flooded her senses, overwhelming. All her emotions were flooding her and she would have to leave now or cause a scene that would eventually find its' way back to Joffrey.

" My apologizes …I am feeling a bit dizzy and need some air. Please excuse me," Sansa mumbled, making the lamest curtsy that would have had Septa Mordane scolding her if her head wasn't rotting on a spike somewhere, and ran off before anyone could protest.

Outside the world was still moving along.

Trades were taking place and battles somewhere far off were being fought.

But Sansa's small insignificant world consisted of not much but Joffrey's unbridled affliction.

She needed her escape.

There were two particular parts of the castle she loved.

On the west side there was a balcony staring directly in view of Blackwater Bay. Sometimes the ladies of the court would do their stitching there, but often the soldiers and Kingsguard would be practicing in the yard beneath them, cursing up a storm during practice or when at rest speaking of elicit behavior that would occasionally drift up and catch the untainted ears of the girls. Sansa was always a bit curious of some of the phrases they used although she would never admit it, but none of the other ladies seemed so interested. All they would do was giggle and whisper how beastly men could be.

On days where the rage was too much she would find watching them soothing. Especially if the Hound was practicing. He was the tallest, muscled man of all, but he was also the one with the most fight. The first to start and the last to leave, he left the yard every day bloody and bruised but he never complained or talked about his outstanding swords play; his fierceness never waned an inch.

If she were a man she would want to be like him in that particular aspect. Sometimes when she watched the Hound she pictured herself in his place and Joffrey on the other end of her sword, scared, ghost white and shaking from the fear. His pants would be soiled and his slimy wormy lips would be quivering, begging for mercy just as she would take the edge of her steel and plunge it straight into his heart.

She would watch him bleed out in front of her with a smile across her face.

But she was not the Hound. She wasn't a solider. She was nothing. Useless. And so, other days, she would stay away from the yard because the mere sight would mock at her futility.

Running now, she sought with fevered need, her second favorite place in the castle. If you could call any part of this personal prison, favorite.

Sansa had discovered the secret room accidentally when she had left dinner one evening after Joffrey had humiliated her in front of his family and told her he didn't want to have her in his sight, calling her ugly and weak. She had bit her lip and kept her back straight but the second she was out of view she crumbled, leaning against the wall and shaking from exhaustion.

There was only so many times she could hear how horrible she was before the wall she carefully constructed started to chip away.

She had needed a place to sit, a place where no one could find her for a while, where she could just breathe and gather her composure uninterrupted. And so she stumbled upon the dark abandoned prayer room, just next to the Kinsgsguard chambers, and has visited it in secret every chance she has gotten. She made sure when she went no guards were around which was mostly mid- afternoon and she left before any of them came to make their rounds for supper. Or sometimes she waited until night had fallen and they had fallen into their beds drunk and barely conscious.

Her pace now felt so desperate and fast that someone would surely catch on if she didn't slow down and pretend like her stroll was nothing out of the ordinary. Reaching the door, her hand on the wood barrier, a sigh of relief washed over her.

Of course nothing ever did go as planned even in those smallest of measures for her.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Even in the midst of an open battleground or a natural catastrophe she would forever know that voice. Steeling her insides, she turned and patted the small moisture under her eyes away. " I was lost…" She turned half-smiling.

The half- smile was as good as she was going to give at this point.

"Lost." Always the cynic, Sandor Clegane stared down at Sansa with about as much civility as a limp puppy who was in his way. " Do I look like a fool to you, girl."

He didn't say the words like a question but she knew he was expecting some sort of reply. Unfortunately she had nothing to give. She had tried with him. Tried so hard to be courteous, to care. Among all the guards she was forced to interact with, the Hound was the most decent to her. She had thought he saw her as more than just a rag doll for the king to drag around and poke when he wanted, but whenever she opened her mouth to extend any sort of pleasantries he would do nothing short of bit her head off.

" No." Her eyes pointed down. " You are no fool." She stated as plainly as possible so he could not misread her words as sarcasm.

He stepped closer. For such an alarmingly big man, his strides held such stealth and grace, Sansa found it terribly disarming. Her back was pressed against the door, the door that held a sort of sanctuary for the broken pieces of her mind and he was ruining it all.

"You're not supposed to be down here, little bird. This is off limits to your kind." He sneered, but there was a seriousness in his tone she did not appreciate.

She was vaguely aware he was trying to frighten her, but he was doing such a lukewarm job she couldn't help but stare up into his face and wonder. Maybe her boldness came from her newfound hate for her life here. Her lack of care for her own well- being…or maybe it was just because she simply had nothing to lose anymore.

Her nostrils made an imperceptible flare when she spoke. " And pray tell what is that supposed to mean?"

Sandor Clegane was not a handsome man by any standards. In fact, his very frame and nature couldn't have been more opposite to Sansa's taste, but she found him easy to look upon in this moment. His physique was broad; the muscles were there and pronounced even to the faint sighted. He had a strong jaw and under the short scruff of a beard were lips that seemed like they could bring pleasure. His eyes were gray and commonly only held hate in them that Sansa bothered not to even take notice, but tonight the dull gray seemed electric against the burning candle posted above them.

His hands were large and could both crush and bruise in one grasp, but, she wondered once and never thought on it again until now, if they could bring about another sort of feeling, could they make a woman cry in a way that had nothing to do with sadness…

Could they handle softly, could they cup a face or waist tenderly?

She reddened, her imagination veering down a dark corner she didn't even know existed in her mind.

He leaned down, almost nose to nose, his black stare lethal. His whisper was low but just as deadly, "What the fuck are you looking at?"

Her chest constricted than turned heavy. The last time she had spoken to him she had tried to thank him for rescuing her from the attackers in town. He had barked ugly words her way and since then they both had kept their distance.

"You," She finally surrendered the word without a thought. She was so tired of thinking, of watching her every move. "I was looking at you."

He huffed a disgruntled breath from his nose, mixed emotions playing across his features, but mostly annoyance won out. "Like what you see? I think not. So get back to your damn room before I-"

"Before you what? Hound."

There was a challenge somewhere in there, but mostly her question was wrapped in silky curiosity. A flicker of surprise darted across his eyes but he shoved it away so quickly she could have been conjuring the sight. She didn't wait for him to answer.

"Before you run to your dear king like the loyal dog you are and tell him what I've done?"

She was leaning closer to him now, her anger peeking with each syllable. " Or maybe you'll just extract the punishment yourself. You don't need the kings say so to beat me. He might even promote you for it."

Both their chests were heaving now. His hand was placed next to her ear against the wall, trapping them in a cocoon of emotion. She thought for a moment maybe he would hit her and she would deserve it with her unladylike outburst, but Sansa was beyond caring. He could do with her what he wanted.

Love was a poison and as long as she didn't feel she was safe.

She gulped down the numbness that took over but a traitor tear fell, sliding down the side of her nose and trapping itself in the corner of her mouth. She watched Sandor watch the tear fall and something in the way his eyes darkened made an entirely new awakening burgeon inside her.

"Punish me…" she wobbled out, " Do with me as you will. I thought you better, but you're like all the others."

"You're right." He seethed through clenched teeth.

Her head shook as if on its' own accord. "I'm not some doll you can tear apart and put back together when you feel like it. I'm not a caged bird you can free on a whim only to imprison later!"

A damn broke inside her, but she fisted her hands at her sides, let her body shake, let herself wait for his slap or hateful retort. When she was rewarded with nothing but the stark silences of their mingled labored breathing, she braved a glance up.

His jaw jotted out. She had worked him up to good and angry and now she waited for whatever punishment, but she would not apologize. Not now. "Say whatever you must. I am not as fragile or breakable as you make me out to be in your head."

"Don't presume to speak for me girl." The sooty words coiled around her.

"I presume nothing. Your actions speak more clearly than any presumption I could ever make." Her fragility had quickly disintegrated and a lofty air tinged her words. She had only hoped he could not decipher the open wound behind them.

That got his tongue wagging on beat. "My actions are just as timed and rehearsed as the rest of the sorry lot here. I only speak unless spoken too. I obey when I am asked, the rest is horse shit."

"And what about me?" She hated how child -like she sounded to her own ears."Aren't I just another command for you to follow out like all the rest?"

His mouth opened to answer but she kept going, " Am I invisible to you as well? Does anyone hear not see me for me? No. No one does. I am either the traitor stark girl or the king's betrothed. Nothing else." Her hand came up and she beat against his chest, a wall of muscle so firm she could have been hitting the granite wall behind her.

Grabbing both sides of her face, Sandor leaned closer still. His mouth a mere inch from hers. "You're going to be the fucking death of me."

The gentleness of his words had her stopping in place and gasping for air. Her swallow held in her throat. It wasn't what he said but _how_ he said it. "See you…of course I fucking see you. I see everything when it comes to you, little bird." The raw ache in his tone would have sent her knees buckling if his body wasn't holding her in place.

" Sandor…"

He immediately shook his head. " No. Whatever you're going to say little bird. No." The warning was clear in his voice, but his body language, the building heat in his stare spoke differently, coaxed her forward, sent her nerves sparking and on edge.

Something that a mere month ago would have sent her frightened into the corner of her room now seized her being, unfurling. She wasn't numb to this. He was bringing her to life.

" Please…" She didn't even understand what she was asking for, but she was certain without hesitation that she wanted it and wanted it from him and him alone.

His gaze still seemed to be stuck on where the tear became trapped in the corner of her mouth.

He sounded ruined but harsh as he breathed out, " You don't know what you're asking. Stop," the last word hard in its' finality, bouncing between the walls of their bodies.

"But- "

He let go of her than. So fast it was as if she had burned him with hot oil. " Go back to your room before I make good on your words and beat your bottom red."

His voice shook so hard with fury she blinked against the sudden brutality. He turned quickly, his strides long and purposeful as she stood there breathless and achy, still caught on his eyes… his lips… and the warm building he had provoked inside her without even daring to try and really touch her.

Her fingers glided across her lips unconsciously, her quivering breath mounted in her mouth before furiously exhaling.

Was she holding her breath the whole time? She thought not. But she might as well have been doing so. Her vision was blurred, her limbs were melted honey, and where her heart had been now only existed a ball of fire that dropped into her lower belly.

For the first time in a very long time, Sansa wasn't thinking about Joffrey or her misery here at King's Landing. No, her chin had been turned to an entirely different view.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks guys for the encouragement!**

Chambered Freedoms 

~Part 2~

_"You'll be glad of the hateful things I do some day, when you're Queen, and I'm all that stands between you and your beloved King."~ Sandor Clegane_

* * *

He was still hard.

Twenty minutes later, two wineskins, pacing his chambers like a caged beast in need of a good hunt, and Sandor Clegane couldn't get that scrap of a girl out of his blood.

Throwing the empty wineskin against the wall Sandor sat against his bed with nothing but the feel of defeat singing through him. He was disgusted with himself. What kind of man who had fought battles, withstood mockery, torture, and had to deal with a prick like Joffrey as his head, couldn't resist the likes of some barely flowered traitor's daughter?

He wasn't a man. He was animal, who fed off the lusts of his flesh and only heeded to his baser instincts. But when had he become so debase as to run after her …. not able to stop his feet from moving forward like some lovesick youth still waiting for his whiskers to grow in.

He could tell you exactly when, as he spit into the small fire he had made for himself. When her kindness had attached itself to him and took on a life of its own. A kindness he had never known existed except in tales and lore.

Yes, she was beautiful girl. So fucking what. Sandor had seen many a pretty females in his thirty years on this gods forsaken earth. One face was just as good as another when you were inside and they were panting so hard all he needed was that surge of warmth and a good ale to call it a right night for him.

It didn't take much to please him.

It didn't take much to piss him off either.

Her courtesies were a nuisance. Sure she got under his skin, just like she got under a lot of men's skins with her fire red hair and her sky blue eyes and those fucking pouty lips she didn't even have to paint to give color to. She looked like one of those breakable dolls that were meant to be hidden away for show and never touched. That pissed him off just as much as the rest of her. But what really got him in an uproar was her kindness.

He could see a lot from his vantage point just two steps behind wherever King Joffrey was. He could see how she folded her hands in her lap over and over, twining her fingers than letting them loose just to run her thumb over her palm and back again. He could see how she fiddled with her skirts making sure every speck of her was covered and demure. Little fucking lady that she was. Piss on that.

But mostly he could see there wasn't an insincere bone in her body.

She played the role they laid out for her, sure, but even that she did with an authenticity found only in her singular nature.

Took a while for him to take notice, he wasn't one to sit and speculate, protecting the king was always first and foremost, but it was there. Every goddamn day like before. Her smile would stay long after she would leave the room, her eyes held their sadness like a rain that outlasted its' welcome, but the smile…the smile never faltered an inch. She tried so hard to be what she needed to be to her beloved, to keep herself alive. He should admire her for that.

But what did he do? Mock her. Call her names, and make sure he left her in tears.

At first he thought her shallow as the doll he had summarized her to be, but she wasn't. That displeased him too. She was everything she showed just to the wrong people. In her head, she probably was pretending she was still at home, her mom was brushing her hair and her dad was somewhere talking to his council, waiting to be called for supper. She probably made a game of her life here in the palace because it was the only smart thing to do. It was either that or slowly lose your mind until you killed yourself or let the nearest guard have the pleasure.

He understood, as opposites as two people could be, how pretending saved your sanity when nothing else worked. He got that. But when she looked into his eyes and thanked him, talked about his bravery or gazed up in a plea of depthless blue as he placed his white cloak around her, Sandor was nothing but fucking mad.

He didn't want to be part of her game.

He wanted no part of her.

She had made a place for herself under his skin. Just because in a moment of weakness he had helped her out a handful of times didn't give her the right to think they were friends or anything more than the strangers they were fated to be.

Who did she think she was. Maybe she had the young heir fooled, maybe not, but he was not some fucking seventeen- year old green boy. He was a man. And no girl was going to have him on his knees, thinking about her or wondering what was going on in that daft head of hers.

She was not going to dispatch her witchcraft on him.

Sandor leveled a gaze at his dark room.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand he stood unbarring his door with a little less ferocity than before. He needed more wine and a good whore with a talented mouth and he would be right as rain before the next sun up.

She could bugger off with her thanks and her pretty words. Sandor Clegane would never cower …over a woman no less.

* * *

Sun up and sun down, made no difference.

A fortnight had come and gone since that time.

He was fighting better for it that was one bloody good thing.

He had beaten every man in the yard, even Ser Arys Oakheart who was young and strapping and as golden as the goddamn knights in all those pretty songs every female flapped about. Even the cocky knight himself couldn't keep up with him.

Draining the large mug with one final gulp, Clegane slammed it down and ordered another.

"What's up your ass I could only wonder…"

The slight amusement in Tyrion Lannister's sellsword did nothing to preserve the otherwise less than dismal path his mind was trying to stay on. Without bothering a glance Sandor tucked away his gloves and waited for his drink. " Fuck off."

"I would and I will…some of the other boys are headed to Chataya's in a few if you're interested. Although I've dabbled with the notion that you're into women you give more of an impression towards being a septa, Hound, if truth be told."

He was certain Bronn didn't have a death wish and wanted to see his next sunrise just if for nothing else but to get his hands on some voluptuous creature. Sandor barely smirked in response and rested his eyes on his next cup of dark ale. Hopefully another few of these and he would be numb and too sloshed to think. Hopefully his dreams would be as black as his mood. Not like lately.

But Bronn must have been as dull witted as his next bedmate because instead of taking a hint like any half sane man in here would do, he took a seat opposite him as if readying himself for some deep talking. Which Sandor didn't do. Ever. He would never be too drunk for the likes of that.

"What's got your mail in a tether Clegane…lately your mood has gone from bad to worse to well downright ornery. Haven't killed someone in a while? Find yourself a kitten or some stray goat…no need to bring the whole lot of us down just because your breeches are wound to tight." The smile he gave the Hound was one of pure unadulterated charm. Bronn was bored and wasting time before he got to go get his nut off.

He picked the wrong shield to mess with. "I said fuck off." The look Sandor served him was as cold and dark as death knocking on his door.

"I'll let you in on a little something…you don't scare me-"

"I should."

"I know your secret as well my friend."

Instantly, like snapping a finger, he pictured her body against him. Felt her warmth wrap around his head and plunge somewhere down deep, take root, and grow.

Sandor's fingers tightened around the cup, but Bronn didn't take notice as he rattled on. "Any man with two eyes and a working cock can see you've got it bad."

He finished his third. This would- be knight had spoiled the evening. He would have to get piss drunk tomorrow somewhere else to avoid the pleasure.

Standing to leave he ignored the blue eyes of his audience and moved to leave when he heard; "You've got to do something about it. And no amount of drink is going to cure it. That's why I said come with me. Get some of the poison out. What you're doing here is just gonna back up on ya. Trust me."

Sandor laughed; a laugh that would probably frighten small children and cause others to cover their ears in fear.

"When I want your opinion Ill ask of it. Now piss off before I take away the one thing that separates you from that spider crawling through the castle…"

Bronn was none impressed. "All I'm saying is get it out where you can. This, here, will only lead to trouble. Your work will suffer-"

"What do you know about work? Your loyalty is to yourself and the gold in your pocket."

The men behind them started shouting to leave, moving past and totally unaware of the building tension between the two hulking brutes. Bronn shrugged his shoulders, "Seems to me you're the one struggling with loyalty. Loyalty to yourself, to the king." He moved to step away and Sandor visibly relaxed inside.

"And to that girl you can't take your eyes off of. Either way you're going to break one of their petty rules someday. Just make sure you break the one you can live with the most."

He left and Sandor stood in the now empty tavern, suddenly weary. He was glad night was upon him. A good sleep and a good fight in the morning would have him back to himself. He walked slowly out, Bronn's words already lost inside his head.

* * *

It was the glow of the light under the door that had brought him there.

At least that it was what he kept telling himself.

He had tossed and turned for most of the night, but when punching his pillow and lying near the small fire on the cold ground didn't work, his limited patience ran its course and he stalked the halls in search of remedy.

He was going to go to the stables, grab Stranger, and go for the longest hardest ride of his life, until the sun was peaking over the mountains and the rustle of street merchants opening their businesses was a growing sound to the roar of wind in his ears.

That was his plan anyways.

He told himself not to look.

He knew she still had been coming there. He didn't have any proof but in his gut he knew. So he had stayed away from the hall all day, especially the time around when he had seen her there last, but now with the silence so loud and the thunder of his anger pulsing through him, into areas he had been trying to ignore daily, he was reckless, beyond caring, and damn tired of listening to reason.

He shoved lightly at the door, feeling no resistance. The room was dark save for the small candle near the tiny window. Her back was to him kneeling as if praying and knowing the little bird like he did she probably was.

Swallowing, Sandor closed the door behind him without taking his eyes off the sight of her. Crippled. Why did he always have to feel powerless around her.

"I'm not going to stay long I promise."

She was a cunning little thing. He had to give her that. Not many people could say they caught him off guard. Stilling even further, Sandor remained statue like, hoping she'd stop her prayers, stop her talk and the way her voice was velvet soft and leave. Mostly he hoped she did none of those things and just stayed. He cursed himself and her for it.

"Praying?" he out right mocked.

Her eyes found the floor, he couldn't read her face and that annoyed him. "No. Thinking."

He didn't believe her.

" Thinking can be done in your room just as well as here little bird. Are you so eager for your head to meet a spike like your father? Ser Meryn has been itching to lay a hand on you lately. He says it's been a whole week since last time Joffrey gave him the go ahead. Is that what you want?"

That was deliberate. He had to be a piece of shit. She had to understand his duty and where his loyalty laid.

She certainly didn't make it easy with her bright eyes landing on him, her hair down save for a few clasped wisps, and her violet nightgown all sheer and angel like, making her the perfect picture of what heaven must be. " I guess it does give you joy to scare people…or maybe not people. Just me."

His movements felt stiff like he was rebelling against his body. " Aye, just you. Now go back to bed before something far scarier than me finds you in the night and does worse than a scare."

Resigned she shook her head, her fire hair falling in such a way that made his hand clench hard at his side. She stood, but didn't give the impression she was headed to leave. " You still think I'm afraid of you." It wasn't a question.

That was what she got out of all he said? Fool stubborn girl. " It isn't a good idea for you to be here."

" Here alone?" she held that challenge in her voice like last time, " or here with you?"

He dared not breathe and he despised the timber of his reply. " Take your pick."

Taking a step closer, he cursed her, his eyes almost bulging as he inwardly barked for her to back away." I'm not hurting anyone. I'm not causing any harm," she was almost so close she'd have to tilt her head to really look at him. " Is it really so wrong for me to need this place? It helps being here. I'm not hurting anyone."

You're hurting me he wanted to say. You're making me fucking nuts. " If they lop off your head in the morning don't say I didn't warn you," he rasped in a shaky whisper, showing her his back as he made for the door.

" If that were true you wouldn't be here."

When he turned she was already half way towards him. Her eyes sparkled like sapphires. "You hate me so much, than why are you here? Why do you always seem to come find me?...Especially when I seem to need you most." Her head bowed at that last part like a small confession she had been holding against her heart for too long.

His chest felt heavy from the weight of her near presence. He somehow got out a mess of incoherent drivel. " It's my duty."

" Was it your duty to come find me when the mob had taken over…to save me in the smallest ways that somehow have become a source of strength for me?"

His hands itched to touch…the feel of skin had been a foreign thing to him as of late. He had missed the company of a woman that was what he had to tell himself.

" Duty." He spat with less conviction this time.

Discouraged, finally, she lifted her hooded gaze and stared at him as if she was trying to solve a riddle. Finally she nodded, to what he wasn't sure. " I understand. Either way I am thankful. Please do not take away the one thing that has propelled me. If being here bothers you I will find sanctuary somewhere else. I only ask that…that –"

" What?" his husky tone inquired.

When had she moved closer. He could smell the lilacs. " That what happened here is between me and you. Your utmost discretion would be appreciated."

He bent, against his will, against his better judgment. " Nothing happened here."

Her mouth opened only slightly, he noticed a slip of pink inside, only to his searching eyes. "Right."

The silence was like a bell call. He could hear everything and nothing but her. The swish of her gown caressed against his flesh as she went to move past him and before a thought could enter he latched a hand around her arm, pulling her in front and against him.

He thought he would find her frightened like the scared little kitten she was, but no. Sandor was wrong again. He was the one scared now because when he peered into those eyes that could drown a league swimmer he saw need, hungry need.

He shook her. " I don't play games. I'm not one of your flowerly knights with ready smiles and a poem on his lips." Impassive she strayed nearer. " I'm not…I won't …"

" Sandor…"

His name on her lips was almost his undoing.

" Do you hear me?" he shook her harder.

" Do you ever hear me?" she countered, undeterred from his fury. " Do you not see why we are here…together? Don't you think it means that-"

" Am I some school boy to fancy tales of fate?" Angry she wasn't cowering to his renowned temper, his lip curled.

" No…that is one of the things I like about you most."

The words clung to him but he didn't have time to even soak them in before she continued her onslaught. " I'm not the same girl at that tourney who couldn't look you in the eyes. I-I care…I only hoped-"

" Stop your fool talk."

Straightening she braved another step, almost close enough to be full encased in his arms, where she was a part of him, one in the same. " I know I'm not like other girls and maybe not to your liking, I had thought….no it doesn't matter what I had thought." Her eyes darted in between his, trying to catch something from him. Resolute she continued, " I won't beg. Not again. _Ser_."

And than he snapped.

He kissed her. Not hard and furious like he was inside, like he wanted her to feel, but petal soft and discovering, like a lover, like a husband famished for his bride. He didn't know he could even kiss like that. The kisses grew deep and hungry fast. The rhythm hypnotic and desperate. She was as starved for him as he was for her.

His hands on their own accord had dragged her fully against him, cupping her face with his thumbs, denting into the soft flesh of her cheeks. The taste of her was exquisite. Like a sweet wine begging to be sipped at. His one hand found its way to the small of her back only for the sake of bringing her closer. He needed her closer. She couldn't be close enough.

Gods she was sweet to taste. The feel was addictive. Her arms had encircled him and the kiss had deepened even further. Her tongue shy at first was now bold in the dance between them. When he clutched at her hair yanked at the roots with fevered anguish he heard her soft moan and his skin tightened and stretched in call. His cock pulsed. He nibbled at her lower lip than her top, suckling a bit only to soothe it later with his tongue.

After the small eternity of kisses he forced himself to pull away, to breathe her in. Her lips were good and swollen, her eyes dark and aroused. He could take her right here and she would come to him willingly, bare and beautiful and no games.

His blood was up and roaring like a shot of whiskey had sprang up into his veins. He just needed to hang on to this moment before he let go. If he memorized this moment, he could picture it a thousand times a thousand different ways and always her and he would be alright.

Cupping the burnt side of his face, she licked her lips, a small smile of pleasure written on her. " Don't…don't stop. Please." On tippy toes she brushed her nose against his, " I like the taste of you."

" Don't." he said harsher than he meant to. " Don't say things like that girl."

" Oh." She bent her head immediately. And he quickly erased the damage by catching her chin in his hand and making her look up at him. She was so goddamn beautiful it hurt his heart and punched him in the belly each and every time.

" If you keep talking like that I'll be doing some dishonorable things to you before you can get your next four words out…"

She was smiling. That wolf smile she rarely showed. It was his favorite though he'd never say. " You help me forget."

She didn't have to say more. He knew.

" Me too," he begrudgingly admitted, finally and unwilling releasing her warm inviting body completely from his.

" But it's getting late and I don't want any suspicion being roused for you…your chamber maid will be in soon to fetch you."

Conceding without a hint of argument she nodded obediently. Than hesitation clouded across her face." Will you…can we meet again…soon?"

He was shaking his head no when she continued. " Please…if we are safe about it. I promise I won't make a spectacle…I'll do whatever you want just as long as we can meet."

How could he say no to her? How could any man say no to her? He was a fool after all.

Maybe she would forget. Girls were fickle curious sort of creatures. Maybe after this she would have her fill and no more would come of it.

He didn't know how to feel about that.

" Go back to your chambers. When the time is right we'll meet." Her smile displayed triumphantly across, lifting the doubt clean away. " But don't come looking for me. Do as you bid and well find a way to each other. Like tonight."

That seemed to be enough for her. Again on her tippy toes she pressed her mouth fully against the scarred side of his face and he held to his will not to close his eyes and let himself take over. End this madness and just claim her body. " Thank you," she sweetly whispered into his ear and like an intoxicating apparition his mind had created she was gone before he could blink his eyes.

What he was doing he could not say. He cursed himself and every weakness he had. He rubbed the sides of his temples, fully aware of his cock throbbing under his tunic. He was damned. Either way he was damned, but right now, her body still impressed into him, he wasn't sorry. He couldn't be. Not when it was the first time he had forgotten the darkness of who he was and what he would likely have to do.


	3. Part 3

**Chambered Freedoms**

**Part 3**

_Wind and words. We are only humans, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy~ Maester Aemon_

She liked watching him fight.

She didn't know much about battles or strategies in the art of war. She didn't know even a handful of the warriors from the history books her brothers and Arya used to talk about endlessly. But right now she envied their knowledge.

Yes, he was just practicing, but he didn't fight like he was. Sandor Clegane was a serious man in nature. All areas of his personality seem to stem from that one true fact. She had been at King's Landing for quite some time now and if he ever smiled no one was ever witness to such a miraculous encounter.

But when it came to fighting, his seriousness escalated to a level no man could see high enough to reach. He fought like it was his last fight. He gave all and everything.

Standing there under the canopy, the sun against her face, the sea a sheen of liquid diamonds, and the breeze cool and glorious against her face, Sansa could almost recognize the familiar ease stir inside her. Something close to contentment hugged where only torment had lain. She dared not think too much on it, for such things were fleeting and distracting in a place where your next step could very much be your last.

But for now she let herself indulge in the carefree of a beautiful day and gazing at him. Gripping the edge of the stone balcony Sansa saw him maneuver past one of the guards turn quickly and hit him sideways in the belly. Men his size could bring down mostly any warrior no matter his age or training, but Sandor wasn't just blood thirsty and strong, he had a quick eye for where his opponent was going to go next. It was like he could get inside their head and know what they were going to do before they were even thinking it themselves.

Her eyes squinted, taking in his large form that was now throwing his sword down and barking for wine. He knew how to fight better than most because he simply had no fear. That was his key; that was his secret. He lived life with the knowledge he could die at any moment and simply did not give caution to such nonsense. Being Joffrey's sword shield he faced the truth of impending death every waking day and yet he shrugged this off as normal.

She envied him. In her time here she was constantly on guard, looking over her shoulder, jittery with news from the north and what could have happened to any member of her family. Her stomach cramped in anxiousness just at the thought of one of them being hurt. Was that part of the Hound's secret as well? Maybe the reason he didn't care was because he had nothing and no one to lose. His life meant little to him and if he loved no one he was therefore not shackled to the fear of that loss.

For some reason that brought sorrow on her like a damp cold cloth wringing down on her head.

They had met several times since that night. Their times together consisted mostly of her prattling on like a ninny, telling stories of her childhood or simply unburdening the day's events as he remained quiet and pensive. Sometimes his sole response would be a light snicker or a bark of laughter. Other times he would ask questions tentatively; his reservation shy as he carefully worded what he wanted to say. Either way, he really listened which was a priceless gift to her. His stare was intent as he soaked in every word and let them roll around in his head and take shape. When he grew impatient, exasperated with his own inability to understand or follow along, Sansa wanted nothing more than to pull at his cloak and draw him near.

One thing that did nag at her like a tug at her skirts was how he never tried to kiss her again. Never even touched her. Whenever she came close to him he would noticeably shift a scant of an inch away or face the fire and wait for her to continue her talk. She didn't want to jump to conclusions but she wasn't as naïve as she had been arriving at King's Landing. She wasn't stupid. She knew men needed the company of women often. Maybe Sandor had been without a woman for some time and in the heat of the moment Sansa had provoked him into doing something he never really had a desire to do.

Saddened at the less than pleasing thought, Sansa's brow quirked.

But their eyes almost always met whenever they were in a public setting that was for certain. The heat between them could start a fire north of the wall.

She tried hard not to seek his face out but some way or another her eyes would drift about the room and find his searing look on her. Or she would instinctively search for his massive shoulders and dark face and find his stance straight forward and rigid like a big oak tree. As if he could feel her, his gray eyes would turn just a fraction and land on her and Sansa would feel the weight of that stare down in her lower belly like a feather's brush.

Just than Sandor turned after a long gulp of wine and saw her. He didn't nod or bow his head like most of the Kingsguard would do. In fact, he did nothing, but she saw awareness brighten darkly about his eyes and she caught how his body tightened and her stomach flip –flopped in response.

Not wanting to catch unwanted scrutiny, she slowly turned away, his weighty gaze prickling at her shoulders as she walked.

In her times of doubt she often wondered if she had imagined that kiss between them. Was it a trick of the gods or was she reaching points of delirium in her young life, so desperate for a connection. And than, like now, he would look upon her and all her doubts would vanish like a puff of smoke. Like a magicians trick.

Tonight, she was going. She would go there no matter what.

* * *

The small prayer room held a draft.

She should have brought her evening shawl with her.

She was rushing. For no reason but just to see him. She was desperate for conversation, of any kind. To hear his raspy voice gather words; that alone made her nerves sizzle on end.

She chuckled softly to herself. The Hound was far from a conversationalist. In fact he seemed to avoid the convention whenever possible. He was a man who spoke with his sword and gruff one- word answers. But his company was no less desired. His presence alone filled and warmed the room, an invisible campfire around her heart. She knew she was safe with him and that was precious to her in these perilous times.

The door flung open and she squeaked out a muffled yelp. He tried hard not to slam the door without making a sound but he was not a delicate man unless he made a concentrated effort. Which she in fact knew he could if he tried. She didn't mind his roughness though. She rather liked how he handled her. Her body could still remember his fingerprints and how they dug hungrily into her skin. What a beautiful sensation to submit to.

Her cheeks flushed scarlet at the vivid recalling.

" Little Bird."

She stood, not able to look him in the eye just yet after her mind had wandered so. He sounded in a fowl temper, but that was the Hound after all. " Sandor."

He made no pretense to move from where he was standing so she sat back down, taking in his massive stature. He was wearing a dark green tunic; his sword for the first time since she met him was not at his side. His hair was straggly but pulled back from his face, which she rather liked. She could barely see it as it is so she enjoyed the allowance of staring in leisure. After finally braving a look up at him she came to the conclusion she fancied his eyes best. The intensity they emanated had a paralyzing effect.

" You fought well today." She tried to smile, to lighten the mood.

It was as if he didn't hear her, but than he nodded in acknowledgment and nothing else, standing his ground and avoiding her small existence.

Gulping down tension she tried again. " It must be hard with all that armor on. To move and such. I don't know how you do it. I could barely lift a sword and hold it straight never mind swing it accurately at a specific target."

Now he looked at her. Void.

Standing again, her mind immediately went to the worst possible conclusion. " Is it…did something happen to Robb? Is my mother-"

" Your family is fine, little bird." He cleared his throat. " As for now."

He was never one to give false hope.

What had he said to her once? _A hound will die for you, but never lie to you_…

She opened her mouth to question him further when he finally decided to speak with less than cordial civility. " Stannis Baratheon is coming for us."

Her eyebrow hooked. " Us?"

" For the kingdom. For the throne." He corrected stonily, never liking the need to explain himself.

The heaviness inside took control. Intertwining her fingers together she twisted at them walking towards the window than back again. " I guess this news has put you in a bad temper…you will need to fight them."

He laughed but there was no mirth, just bite. " Looking forward to it actually. Haven't had the joy of shedding blood it quite some time. A man needs to release such things or he becomes a bit out of sorts."

She took in the meaning of what he said. He was trying to push her away, warn her.

" There are other ways," she suggested thoughtlessly but before she could reveal her meaning his temper ripened.

" What in bloody hell does that mean?"

" Nothing," she was shaking her head, " I just hear the girls, the women, talk, that's all."

" Women," he bit out, turning and sitting on the small bench near the fire.

Her tongue moved on its own accord. " I am a woman no matter how badly you don't want me to be."

He was staring at the fire, watching the flames as if waiting for them to instruct him somehow. " Barely," he whispered in distaste.

" I know when a man wants me. I know when I want …when I want someone myself." She came to sit beside him, dared to touch a hand to his forearm. " I know what I feel when I'm with-"

" Stop it." He barked low. " You don't know what you're saying."

He still saw her as some helpless little girl in need of protection, and mostly from him. " I know exactly what I'm saying," she protested, thoroughly offended. He never gave her the smallest amount of credit. " I know what I feel inside when I'm with you. I know that I have come to enjoy it."

She was not a violent women but the cruel scoff he gave her made her want to slap him.

His glare was not an easy thing to behold. " And when Stannis barges through that door and asks for your fealty right before he slits my throat and every other Lannister guard will you still want me and all I bring? No girl. I am a good distraction in this viper's nest but a distraction nonetheless. When your family comes to claim you or you're begging at the feet of whatever new king there is my face will be a distant memory to your whimsical thoughts."

How could she argue against him when he had already set in his head she was not to be trusted. How could she break down years of mounting distrust and betrayal? She wasn't the half- witted child he thought her to be. No matter how much she had played the part there was much more to her just as there was to him. A person wasn't just one thing, one incident.

Tears brimmed her lower lashes. Would they always be doomed, no matter where their feet took them? Would the very enemy they seek to destroy, hers Joffrey and him his brother, really just be a façade to the real terror, themselves? " Why do you let the past cloud the present?" she implored softly, almost to herself, almost forgetting he was there. Almost

" You forget yourself girl." Back straight he was staring daggers into her now. She had hit the bone of the meat.

As if agreeing with him she shook her head. " Right. I forgot I'm only here for decorative purposes. Gods forbid further exploration."

His hand was at her shoulder pulling him to face her. " If I wanted talk I'd go to the tavern with the rest of the guards. Talk is for others not me. There are ways to get your point across besides for opening up your yap."

" Because that's served you well so far," she dryly retorted, a tear shrieking down her cheek.

"It has. And it will." Sandor stood reaching the fire and than making his way into the shadow of the room.

Hope seemed a stranger to them. The connection was so tangible she would bet she could reach out her hand and yank the rope between them and feel his body jerk in reaction. But his denials were like the stinging after a slap across the face. The man from last week was tucked away, hidden well. " I know what your brother did to you."

She didn't know what possessed her to voice the confession but she wanted nothing between them when he left. Especially if he was going to battle and this would be there last real conversation. She wanted him to know his scars were _not_ him. That she didn't see them when she looked at his face.

Now it was as if she had assaulted him.

In one long step and breath he had her in the clutches of his iron grasp. There was no warmth in the touch. The whites of his eyes were a shocking white, so huge and brilliant in their hate. The burnt side of his mouth twitched, convulsing to a beat orchestrated by bloodlust. " Who?" he shook her.

" Sandor-"

" Who told you? Damn you."

She was shouting now, the guards would wake, they would be found and she would never see him again. " It doesn't matter. I don't care! Don't you understand!...I don't care!"

_I love you, you stubborn mule-headed dolt_!

He let her go like she disgusted him, like her very touch made his skin crawl to move out from under her. " You can take your pity and shove it." He was seething mad. For a flash of a second her ancient fear of him awakened, but she remembered he was wearing his armor. The armor he had built around his head and heart, impenetrable to all. Including her.

She wouldn't let him stop her. " If you want me to see you as all the rest, than that's what ill do. You've already put me there. You've already set it in your heart for me to forget you. To think little to nothing of you. So if that is how you want it to be, so be it. You've erected this wall that I can never breech. I am the one who is pitied by you. So stupid, so small …just this little bird you've entertained until your next visit to town. I'm trying here. I'm trying to reach you and you keep pushing me away."

He was staring at the floor. His profile to her, his jaw working overtime in its rigidity. Was he so far gone he didn't hear her… she couldn't say. Sandor always wore his masks, but she had hoped with her they had slipped a bit off place.

" Maybe you're right" She sniffled, her voice clogged. "Maybe Stannis will invade and take the iron throne and …and send me on my way…or marry me off to some highborn lord…"

The murder in his eyes beamed like the moon on a starless night. He stalked back to her, crowding her vision, wrapping around her atmosphere.

" Over my fucking dead body," his gravelly reply made her eyes shut tight.

" Isn't that what you want… To be rid of me and my pretty words and songs that irritate you so. To stop asking questions ill never know the answer to," she whispered defeated, placing the flat of her hand on his heaving chest.

" Talking is for women." He rasped, breathless.

"Than I guess you must not feel if you have nothing to say ever."

Yanking her to him his warm breath whishing against her mouth could have been a kiss, the flesh in between her legs pulsed eagerly. And than he did kiss her. If a kiss could be a song this one would have many verses and be never ending. Soft and hard all in one swoop of lips and tongue. He explored her mouth like a man who had been deserted of the heady exchange for too long a time.

She was pawing at the front of his tunic, her toes pointed up, her back arching to rub her front against him. His hands grabbed at the underside of her neck, taking fistfuls of hair and pulling. He nipped at her chin than her jaw, soft worshipping kisses against her neck, burying his face into the crook to inhale her scent.

She could feel his fingers tremble with the urge to lose the tiny restraint he held on to.

Sansa was light headed with power. She could ask him anything at this point and he would answer, she would bet Joffrey's head on it. She could feel where ever his mouth had tasted, the imprint hot. With a resigned growl he stopped, placing his lips on her forehead and than letting go of her completely.

The absence of his body on her wore starkly against the rise of heat in her blood." I want you to kiss me…_more_," her last word tantalizingly bashful.

His gaze at her could pierce like an arrow through a deer's heart.

" Sansa…"

Her eyes smiled up at him. He was breathing hard, a tortured look on his face. If anyone had the art of deflection down it was him. " Please-"

" Stannis is coming, little bird. And I have to be ready. We can't meet again. Not like this. Not for a while."

" But-"

"But nothing. It's how it needs to be."

Tears welled up. He was a big black blur to her. " I understand." She swallowed past the knot in her throat. " I wouldn't want to distract you."

His thumb erased the tears falling. Gently his calloused voice broke past the worry. " I can't fight with a right head if I know you're not safe. You need to keep low, do as your told, and don't spark up any unneeded talk."

" That is what I have been doing the whole time," she fought back. " I'm not surviving like this, I'm dying. I'm dying Sandor."

His shadow was cast over her like a white cloud shading her from the blaring sun. " I know little bird. I see it every day."

The silence stretched for a long moment. The crackling of the fire was the only thing to be heard. The fierceness radiating from him made Sansa wonder if he might kiss her again but he only brought her to his chest, his arms encircling her in a way where she was part of him, his body. Could this be her forever, maybe if she closed her eyes and prayed hard enough the gods would finally hear her.

His mouth was on her ear, " If the battle goes wrong, I will come for you." The solidity of his promise sent shivers down her arms. The words were said like a blood oath passed between them.

" I don't want you worrying about me while you're out there," she muffled against him, her mind caught on blades and blood and the many possibilities of what could go wrong for him.

The rumble of his chest was like a roll of thunder. He pulled away a little, a laugh on his lips. What little amusement the Hound allowed himself to entertain she saw in that moment. "That's like asking me not breathe, girl." He swiped a stray hair from her cheek. " Be the good little bird I know you to be and I will rest easy with that when I'm out there."

He was leaving her now. Backing away and taking his strength and the wall of warmth he had brought with him. " I will," she bit her lip to stop the outright cry clawing at her throat. " I will do whatever you say."

The slight smile in his gaze dampened and she wished she could kick herself for whatever she had done to make him stop.

At the door, his eyes stayed locked on her. She realized he was absorbing what he could take of her, one last glimpse just in case. She wanted to run to him. To have him hold her again and make promises that had nothing to do with this stupid war or the Lannisters.

" Little bird…"

" Yes?" her voice husky from the tears.

" I may not say a lot, but doesn't mean I don't feel. Whatever I am to you, don't think you're not the same to me." He held her stare one heartbeat longer before unbarring the door and leaving her there with the final blow of his words. His presence still lingering against her.

She sniffled into the sleeve of her gown, probably the most unladylike action of her life.

Damn courtesies. They didn't feed the hungry or stop bloodshed.

Now that she had met real freedom she was tired of pretending. Tired of being the perched bird repeating the necessary phrases to get by and stay unnoticed.

She huffed out an exasperated breath. But she would.

Because he asked, she would.

Whether Sandor knew it or not he had the upper hand in this thing between them. He could ask anything of her and she would oblige without restraint. Whether that made her another kind of prisoner she wasn't sure, but she was easy to conclude not. For being a prisoner never felt so freeing.

* * *

War had come to their doorstep.

Sooner than anticipated.

The news varied from person to person. Her chambermaid Shae said the enemy would be there by nightfall. Lady Tanda over heard that and immediately fainted dead away, crying on cue before delicately falling to the ground. It was the most graceful and practiced faint she had ever witnessed. Her mother instantly snatched her up and started fanning her while the rest of the castle went about their business. Her theatrics were an every day occurrence but a part of Sansa couldn't help but empathize. War was war and there was no middle ground when it came to its severity.

She also overheard Ser Meryn stating that Stannis's fleet was just outside the harbor to Ser Boros, her least two favorite guards. She had been leaving the prayer room, fervent and reverent in her petitions to the gods. As she was closing the door she was still thinking of what else she could have prayed for when she caught their whispers and quickly froze in the shadows, blending in with her dark gray hood.

The castle was in chaos like the end of the world was arriving without mercy or warning. Servants were rushing around as men and women of the court shouted orders and continued their maniacal pacing. She didn't know which was worse, witnessing order unravel into disorder or repressing the very same chaos in herself.

She was a bubble about to pop.

Another week had come and gone and she had barely seen the Hound, even at court. But then she had barely seen Joffrey because he was preparing for the war. The other rumor was he had a whole new blade forged just for this very night.

Even so, she purposely stayed away from the training yard for fear of suspicion. Tense times drew out the questioning side of those around. She also didn't want to distract him. She could only imagine how much was on his mind with nowhere to take such worries or concerns except on the yard and soon on the actual battleground. Who was she to get in the way.

" Are you okay my lady?" Shae asked from beside her.

The flames of the built in fires that surrounded the vast throne room were not only making her sweat but causing her anxiety to escalate. She gulped down the nausea in her stomach, which was empty from her lack of appetite. Even just the smell of food made her want to lurch forward into her chamber pot.

"I'm fine." She lied easily. Too easily. " The heat can be so wearing sometimes."

The gleam in the pretty dark woman's eyes told Sansa she didn't buy a word of that excuse, but she was gracious just the same. " Well, you look as pale as that mythical white stuff you call snow. You should go to your room and rest as soon as this nonsense with the king is over."

Joffrey had summoned her here and she could only guess why, but whatever it entailed she was sure it involved berating and name calling of some kind.

Sansa agreed with Shea in her head and wished she could oblige her friend but Queen Cersei had called upon all the ladies and children of the castle to stay together at Maegor's Holdfast to keep morale alive. She could not refuse her.

Itching to flee this room and all the awful memories that danced against the walls like shadows, Sansa became restless to find the nearest exit and grab some cool fresh air while she still could, but just than Joffrey entered, his smug expression potent, permeating the air like sour milk.

It was the tall figure behind him though that eclipsed the rest of her sight and sound and the very necessary common sense she needed in a time like this.

He didn't look at her as Joffrey spoke, his stance straight and solider like. She dared not peek his way even as the king rattled on because she would know if he had glanced at her. Even for a fraction of a second, she would feel if his eyes were on her. But he never did and before she could catch up with what had just happened, something about kissing Joffrey's sword and licking blood…they were moving forward and she was left standing there playing catch up.

She sighed, following Shae. Shae's mouth was moving but Sansa couldn't decipher the words. The world around her slowed.

_Please, keep him safe. Whatever happens, I just want him to safe. His life can not end here, in this waste of war and death. Please let him live. Even…even if he wasn't meant for me, knowing he is okay will be enough. I pray this with all of my heart and soul. _

If only her brain could quiet now and let her be for just one instance maybe, just maybe, she would survive this war and not just the one outside the castle walls.


	4. Chapter 4

Chambered Secrets

PART 4

"_Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle"-Jon Sno_w

Tyrion Lannister had a knack for sarcasm.

Considering the dire surroundings, the half man still found a way to incorporate humor into even the bleakest of circumstances.

Of course, anything humorous was pretty much lost on such a man as he, but Sandor could at least appreciate the attempt. Walking around in Joffrey's shadow, a boy who had the personality of an ill- tempered serpent, along with the rest of his unpleasant relations, the witty barbs were almost a necessary antidote to preserve one's right mind.

But he didn't fear the dark like most men. He welcomed it. Born into a world of hate and revenge, this life of tribulation and countless loss was in his blood, like an emotional appendage he couldn't break away from unless cut off by death itself.

Sandor always thought of killing as more of an art, especially when revenge was the motivator, but when a man began to take things to seriously he became emotional and when emotional a person only lent room for error. Thankfully he never had to worry about having that particular problem.

Instructing Joffrey Baratheon on part of the battle plan was like trying to explain a map of the free world to that dull witted giant back at Winterfell he had the misfortune of meeting the first morning in the stables.

Twits and hangovers did not go well together.

But Tyrion answered every question asked with just the slightest hint of irony. Lost on his nephew, Joffrey stood, hand on hip, ever petulant, and continued his whining about the lack of ships and such while his cousin Lancel leaned over for a better view, jittery like a virgin in a whorehouse.

The Hound could almost empathize, but it had been so long since his first kill he could hardly remember the adrenaline rush of nerves nor did he care to reminisce. That was a lifetime ago and his heart had been calloused hundred times over to such things.

Truth was, he should have been paying closer attention to what was going on around him. After all he was a Kingsguard. Men would be looking to him to lead them into battle.

This morning he had been fired up to go; the guards endless talk about who would have the most kills and what weapon they bested at sent his competitive nature into overdrive to shut them all the hell up. Now, hand on the hilt of the sword, his face remained impassive and resigned as he watched the black night and the dark water mesh together in one big nightmarish blur.

The drums consistent beating thrummed closer, matching with the thump of his pulse.

He thought of slicing his sword through flesh and those familiar juices in him flowed to attack.

He realized he needed the thrill of taking a life like he needed a woman in his bed.

Blast that damn girl.

Blast them both to hell.

He had tried.

Tried so hard not to think about her. He had made up every good reason to stay away and had thankfully kept to his word. Being a man of discipline for the whole of his life had definitely aided his stone reasoning, but he would be lying to himself if he said the struggle wasn't a hardy one.

Seeing her for the first time tonight was a shock to his system, though he schooled his reaction and kept his sight head on. Whether she was hurt by the shunning he couldn't say. He forced himself not to give the thought any consideration because the momentum of moving forward was what he needed to concentrate on. She was a momentary preoccupation. A gorgeous one, but a diversion he could not allow.

What was it about her anyway… He had admitted that her beauty was unearthly, something that should be written down and bound for all the future folk to know about, she was that entrapping. Her kindness was rare in his menacing world and it was as much a part of her as that hair and those eyes. And yes, he was intrigued by each and every facet of her body and mind, but this, here, between them, was fucking ludicrous.

She would get him killed if he let his mind sink into her and all the possibilities.

She was his Achilles heel.

If he wanted her to be safe, if he cared at all for her, which he wasn't even sure if he could recognize that emotion in himself, his distance would have to be his only way of showing it. His goodbye would be his parting sentiment to her.

He was not meant for her. Nor she for him.

Practicality was the god he lived by. The foundation reality leant was a firm and unforgiving one but never did his foot slip or his heart break. He was better off not caring or hoping to know what love was like.

He couldn't recall when he had let his guard down and let her in, but he was bloody pissed he had been so foolish. Weakness was not a Clegane attribute.

He sighed against the wind in his face.

Her head was in the clouds, praying to her gods and his were firmly set knee deep in the muck and dirt of real life.

" _There are other ways," she suggested._

Pinching his eyes closed briefly at the memory, he would have growled if the action didn't warrant head turns from his comrades. The girl didn't even know how utterly seductive she could be. Her mere naivety added to her allure, pulled for release at the primal beast within him. Did she even know the many ways he could make her come, make her tremble until her ladylike courtesies had vanished and all that was on her lips were sighs and curses urging him for more. Bones heavy and pliant from a satisfaction that couldn't be quenched he would push her body until she was limp, unable to lift even a finger from exertion, until she was nothing but a mass of tangled limbs and sweaty skin, wrapped up in his body.

" _Why do you let the past cloud the present?"_

Her heart was going to be her undoing some day. She was going to get herself hurt or worse. She wore her emotions on her face like a painted mask, clear as day for all her enemies to see. She was young, he couldn't blame her for that, but he had hoped the traps the Lannisters had plotted against her family would have readied her, reformed her veins from flowers to steel.

Life was a cruel uncaring bitch of a mother who wouldn't relent until she was naked on the floor, whaling in pain, left with nothing but faded memories and dark roads ahead.

Living in this hell of a place should have taught her that invaluable lesson but now, with what had happened between them, he wasn't so confident. She had left herself completely vulnerable to him, to do what he liked, and it took every constraint in his militant like control _not_ to break down the door and seize her-body, mind, and soul.

He confirmed his resolve. Again. For the thirtieth time in the past week.

Sandor was going to stay away. He was going to, for once in his life do the right, selfless, unbastardly act and let her live. Let her have the freedom she held in the palm of her hand, whether she knew it or not.

* * *

Blood was dripping down his face.

The scarred side was numb to such sensations, but the wet stickiness could not be misconstrued, the metallic smell filling his nostrils. He was sure most of it was not his. When he killed there was no grace in his movements, just lusty full swings and a lot of hacking. Blood was everywhere, but the splattering against his cheek was pissing him off. He was literally a bloody fucking mess.

Without avail, the fighting raged on around him.

His men were dying by the droves. Some gutted right at his feet, others drifting out into the sea, washing away with the tide. Fear curdled screams bellowed across the night air like a banner that death was in this place, but the Hound saw none of this.

All he saw was fire.

Sweat broke out across his already drenched forehead; his breathing turned shallow along with spotted sight as the world around him stilled and swayed. He could hear someone call from beside him but he was locked in place, helpless to rise against the overflow of frenzied doom.

The sight before him struck him cold like the hand of death had gripped him by the shoulder. A solider of Stannis' was coming at him, on fire, sword drawn and running like something straight out of the bowels of the seven hells.

Inches within slaying him, Sandor closed his eyes, realizing this was his time to go. Fuck it, he thought, letting the gods have their way, but the sadistic bastards must have had other ideas for him because within a second of being gutted like a bloody pig, an arrow plunged through the back of the soldier's head, killing him instantly.

Sandor's head whipped to his right finding Bronn with his bow in hand, throwing a pleased smile his way.

Fuck.

He'd never hear the end of this now.

Stumbling back Sandor found his way behind the wall, his brain fogged by fear, pained by his incapacity to fight. His men needed him. He should be out there where the sand met the water, slicing every fucking man that stepped a toe onto the beach. What the fuck was he doing?

The fire.

The fire was everywhere.

The world was on fire for all he knew.

All of sudden he was seven years old, too small to fight back, too little to understand what his body was experiencing. The pain reached out to every part of him, even his insides shriveled against the blinding agony. He could feel his brother's large hand pushing him down into the brazier, the sizzle of burning flesh, and the snarl of Gregor's breath as he patiently waited and watched his brother suffer.

The Imp was shouting at him, reminding him of his honor and duty. Like he needed the fucking reminder. A day didn't come with out that dreaded fact looming over his head.

Than the spoiled rotten little shit of a king started barking at him and Sandor, who already had one foot out the door along time ago, finished the move with no regard for his next.

Fuck this. Only he didn't just think it, he said it. And now that he had said it he couldn't unsay it. Words were weapons. They could do just as much damage as a sharpened axe.

He stumbled forward, wiped the sweat from his eyes, wishing he could rip the armor off, the blasted metal was suffocating.

Where would he go?

What would he do now?

He had no answers to any of those questions.

And that was just fine by him.

* * *

The women and children were beginning to panic.

Lancel Lannister had barged in, wounded and short of breath. His armor was smashed, caked with dirt and dried blood, and with his hesitant declaration the last shred of hope evaporated like one of Pycelle's infamous remedies.

Sansa gulped, releasing much needed air, wishing she could inhale the summer night and not this…this death sentence. If she was going to die she wanted to be outside, near the godswood, or the water. Not stuck in some room with people she only formerly tolerated. She tried and failed to quell her worries with the comfort that she would be with her father soon. Maybe he would even be waiting for her at the very entrance to heaven…but none of those faithful hopes her parents had read to her about would stay put and wash away the scares leaping to steal her sanity.

" You need to get out of here," Shae whispered the order as if she was the noble lady and Sansa was the servant.

Tripping over different replies in her head Sansa just nodded, " I can't…were not supposed to-"

" Stannis's men will be through the doors any minute," her eyes were cement in their meaning, " there is no time …please go now before it's too late."

The words why do you care almost spilled out of her mouth. Sansa wasn't used to someone looking out for her. The familiarity warmed her momentarily. Only her and someone far sinister had actually ever …. " What about you?"

Shae winked, " No one will be raping me," she confidently confided, picking up her skirts to reveal the dagger roped around her calf. " Now go."

Before Sansa could reply Shae was pushing her towards the door. She caught sight of Ser Ilyn Payne in the corner of her eye but she didn't freeze like the replica statute in her head. No, very unlike the girl from Winterfell, Sansa let her instincts do the thinking and walked at a pace that was just fast enough to make a head way and slow enough not to draw questioning glares. Her pace remained as such until the holdfast was just a faded light and distant murmurs.

The castle could almost pass for being abandoned, the only sounds were her two feet echoing off the stone steps. The shuffle was so loud to her panicked ears she was sure a Lannister guard would leap from the shadows at any moment, take her life on the Queen's order or worse- ravage her body like the town men had wanted so viciously to do.

No outcome was promising. A quick death or a slow one, those were her choices.

But before her thoughts could scurry even further down their torturous path she recognized her surroundings, her door was around the bend. She inwardly sighed, biting her lower lip not to cry for the small joy. This was one step closer to some freedom. She wouldn't dare let herself hope to dream beyond each little hurdle she achieved towards her escape.

She slightly pushed open the door only to close it on a mute thud and bolt the lock. Her breathing was an explosion against the silent four walls. The blackness shrouded out half her room. What was she to do first?

She found her doll sitting on the small table near her vanity.

There was a time when a doll like this was her everything. Dressing it, making it look pretty, and imaging its life as she played with Jeyne Poole and the other girls of the castle. Wasn't that what she made herself out to be to the world? Just a doll for everyone to do with what they liked? Clutching the small yarn girl to her chest, Sansa treaded towards the open window.

The night sky was starless but lit with green fire.

The sight was glorious, gloriously frightening. The dark water was crystallized, shimmering, the surface bouncing light like magic pebbles were bobbing on top.

Who would have thought that on such a night a battle was being fought, lives were being taken without hesitation and people were losing loved ones, never to look upon their faces again.

Sandor.

He had not come for her.

Which only meant one thing…

Her heart felt like someone was stabbing it, digging a grave to bury love in it.

What had happened between them was unplanned, unsought, and too beautiful to try and verbalize. Somehow words would lessen what really happened. Why did all the good in her life seem to slowly die off…had she angered the gods without her recollection? Arya was the one who always broke the rules and lived by her own code of conduct. Sansa had broken none. She was a rule player. She did and said everything anyone had ever wanted from her and her reward was a body count of loved ones and an evil horror for a future husband.

Something inside her told her if the Hound had really died she would know. The loss would penetrate down into the marrow of her bones. But now she was so numb and crazed she was feeling so many things and nothing. How could she recognize what was what?

He had shunned her tonight but she remembered he had told her he must.

Sandor was a man of duty. That was first and foremost…what if he changed his mind? Men changed their minds all the time.

No he wouldn't…would he?

Sansa shook her head decidedly. She mustn't think on such things or she would never move to go anywhere. Her father was dead her sister probably as well…she needed to live for those who remained. She would demand the same from them.

If the Hound was alive she had to survive for that very reason alone.

Stop being a stupid little bird and _go!_

She turned threw open her chest of clothes and found her leather satchel. Stuffing a few of her travelling gowns she slammed the chest shut, grabbed her doll and stuffed it in as well. She haphazardly swiped random trinkets off her vanity just in case she needed something to barter with for food or shelter along the way.

Flipping the satchel shut she grabbed her gray traveling shawl and tucked her hair inside, drawing the strings of her shawl together to cover her face as much as possible. The more she blended in the easier her unrecognized departure.

Fear danced up her arms and legs in light shivers as realization of what she was about to do hit. There was no turning back. Now or never.

The lock unbolted without resistance and no sound was made as she slipped through the door to be greeted by the dark solitude of the winding hallway.

The shadows played games with her eyes. Ever changing shapes. Ever moving, causing her skin to leap an inch off her bones. She pretended to see none of it, casting her vision forward and squeezing the fright away. A tear brimmed off her lash just the same. She could hear yelling from below her. The sounds rising to mist around the hallway like a demon of the night come to collect her.

Her pace quickened, her one hand holding to the wall to guide her, using the small post candles as her only source of light. She stayed parallel to them incase anyone was to come she could try and hide.

Finally on her last steps she ran. She didn't care if she was seen. Her release was pounding against her like a spirit trapped in the wrong body. She didn't belong here. She never did. She wanted to go home.

Swinging open the door she saw the stables and ran to them like they were her saving grace from the madness of hell.

Sansa despised horses. Riding was a torture for her and she avoided the necessary mode of travel whenever she could, but now seeing the row of horses in the barn, all readied and saddled she could only whimper in elation.

She tucked her bag under the front of the saddle and tightened the straps.

" Little …bird…."

Her head whipped around, her hood falling away. " Sandor?"

Blood coated him head to toe. On his breastplate, his leather gloves, but his face was the worst. The whole scarred side was a spray of dark red, even his hair dripped it.

She was at his side, panting, a knot of worry gripping at her ability to speak. She was scared for him, though at first appraisal he appeared as sturdy as any healthy male.

Her hand lifted to check for wounds, but he stilled her, encasing his large fingers around her wrist and holding her in place.

It was like she wasn't even there. He could barely glance in her direction without looking away to stare at some ghost in the room with them.

" I was going to leave…" he choked the words out. Sickened. " I was going to leave this place…you."

She said nothing. For once she knew he was the one who had to speak what was on his heart. Her listening was of the gravest importance.

" I meant to leave you." He admitted defiantly, almost daring her to be angry with him. She only smiled with watery eyes. " I was on my horse readied…" head bowed, his swallow was hard. " I should have fucking left."

" No." She replied resolute, not the least bit offended by his confession. She saw what he said tear at him " No, Sandor."

" I am a fool," he spat, the self -contempt overcrowding the weariness in him. " But the battle…I wasn't sure..." His jaw clenched. " I am a bloody fool."

She pulled against his iron hold and because he let her, she broke free. The tips of her fingers ran over his burnt cheek in a soothing swish of endless comfort.

He returned the gesture. Almost not willing. She could see the torment push and pull against an ancient fear inside him. If he could only be at peace in his heart and the discovery of what it meant to feel… maybe that is why the gods fashioned them to be in this place, this hell, together…maybe…

His weathered hand engulfed her dainty profile. His palm encompassing as he buried in his fingers in her hair. He watched his movements, fascinated. And with one small tug he drew her within a whispers length. She knew if he let himself he would give her all of him and he would expect nothing but all of her in return. They would drown in each other. Nothing less than everything.

He was staring at her mouth like he wanted to devour her.

" Shall we go?" She suggested in an even tone, her body being thrown left and right inside her.

He could only nod. The nod was short and almost imperceptible, but she caught the humble act the same. Her hand dropped the same time as his and he immediately took her fingers and twined them with his. The small squeeze he gave her was the very answer she was waiting for.

And so she beamed up at him as she led him toward her horse.

He halted suddenly and she tripped a bit backward from his solid weight. When she peered questionably at him he had a growl on his lips but a smile in his eyes. Eyes of gray steam and dancing clouds.

" What?" She finally asked, looking at her horse than at him again.

He drew her completely against him with their joined hands and lightly clasped her chin with his free one as he said, " We're not getting on that damn horse if I have anything to say about it. Follow me, little bird… I'll take care of it from here."

And so, Sansa Stark, his little bird only, did.

**Thanks for the encouragement, hope you liked it =)**


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